


Interlude

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Call Me Mistress [5]
Category: Infinite (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Assault, Domme!OC, Drugs, Explicit Language, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Human Trafficking, Injury, Injury Recovery, Medical Examination, Nurses & Nursing, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Prostitution, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sex Work, Sexual Assault, Victim Blaming, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 09:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: The Mistress visits a women’s health clinic and relives a dark period from her past.Excerpt:"I need an STI screening," you answered, waiting on the follow-up question you had been asked many times before, despite marking it when you booked the appointment online."For what exactly?" she inquired further, adjusting her glasses to get a better look at you."The full panel, please."The nurse flipped to the second page of her clipboard and remarked, "It says here you just had a full set of tests less than a month ago. Did you not receive your results?""I did,” you clarified, “but I need to be tested again."





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: None - OC (solo), appearance by Kim Sunggyu (INFINITE)
> 
> Genre: Angst
> 
> POV: 2nd Person (from the Mistress’ perspective)
> 
> Warning: Domme!OC, sex work, sexual themes, violence against women (including rape, assault, mentions of human trafficking), mentions of drugs, mentions of physical injuries and other medical themes, victim shaming, women’s healthcare, profanity
> 
> A/N: This includes multiple flashbacks that will be triggering to some audiences, so please review the tags before reading.

Cheap hairspray, enough to coat the lungs in a sticky residue. A waft of baby powder dust, hard to wash out of clothes soiled by motherhood that came too soon. And disinfectant—the pungent ammonia-laden cleaning agent preferred by facilities known for servicing by the hordes. The entanglement of odors which lingered in the waiting room of the local women’s health clinic was a sobering reminder of all which ailed your gender and your profession. It was nauseating, especially the sugary sweet notes of perfume you inhaled at the clinic's entrance. It smelled like jailbait and you remembered wearing a drug-store fragrance just like it the first time you stepped foot in a clinic at seventeen with clammy hands and an unsettled stomach.

After years of frequenting healthcare establishments like this one, you had grown numb to the apprehensive feelings that plagued the patients nestled uncomfortably in the worn plastic chairs around you. A girl who looked no older than sixteen tried to calm her fussy baby, wiping his runny nose with a crumpled tissue. Another child was growing inside her womb, and the large size of her belly suggested she was keeping it, despite wearing the youthful face of a child herself. You discarded your personal feelings on her choice, focusing your efforts on tuning out the scene and the wails coming from her stroller. It was relatively easy to do, given that you visited this particular clinic on a monthly basis.

However, the sound of the baby’s cries was deafening to the young couple seated on your left. Their fingers were interlocked, but the man was sweating bullets, unable to divert his gaze from the stroller. He looked like he couldn't even grow a full beard, yet it was clear to you that he was there for a very adult reason.  _Hm, bet he wishes he had used a condom_ , you mused, watching the woman release the man's hand and turn away from him to focus on the analog clock hanging on the wall across from her. If she had been in any other waiting room, she would be on her phone scrolling through social media and ignore everyone around her. But in this clinic on this particular afternoon, she was preoccupied with the what-ifs and the crawling speed with which the minute-hand moved.

It was customary to smell a hint of perspiration when you were surrounded by overworked medical employees, screaming children, and impatient adults. The staff tucked behind the large glass of the reception desk were completely unfazed by the mounting anticipation in the waiting room. They might as well have been on another planet for how attentive they were. Their eyes rarely lifted from the desk to check on the patients. Meanwhile, questions caged the minds of those seated, awaiting their fate: Am I infected? Am I pregnant? How deep is the shit I’m in? Is there anything I can do to fix it? How much will it cost?

As strange as it was to admit, the clinic normally felt like a homecoming. Today, however, the prevailing emotion stirring in your stomach was anger—with yourself. You pressed your lips into a thin line as you dragged your manicured finger along the screen of your phone, skimming the text of your emails—but not reading them. You hadn't been able to focus for three days, not since Christmas Eve when you made an exception to your otherwise rigid rules and let Firetruck eat you out on his crafts table. Despite his words of assurance that he wasn't carrying anything infectious, you knew there was only one way to be sure. That's why you were there in the clinic, awaiting your turn to be tested.

 _It's fine, everything is fine_ , you consoled yourself with a strained sigh. An older woman with a pink cardigan entered the clinic, angrily hissing into her phone about "that cheating bastard," and you surmised she was there for the same reason you were. She jotted her name on the clipboard at the reception desk and walked past you to find an open seat. You held your breath to keep from inhaling whatever flea market knock-off she thought passed for proper perfume, hoping she wouldn't bitch on the phone the entire time she waited for her turn.

You glanced at your phone again. You had been sitting there almost an hour waiting to be called, with little to make you feel at ease.  _At least Firetruck is a neurosurgeon_ , you reminded the concerns stewing in your thoughts. He would have insurance and get regular checkups. He would get tested. The odds that you were in the clear were favorable, all things considered, but the statistics didn't keep you from grappling with how quickly you had succumbed to his request to pleasure you in the first place. Were you so lonely and desperate for affection that you weren't going to follow your own rules anymore?  _Pathetic and unprofessional_ , you chastised, crossing your legs in irritation. With each shift in your seat, you could still feel his tongue between your legs and how much you missed it—or any selfless physical contact for that matter.

"Catherine!"

 _Ugh_ , you flinched, standing from your seat to approach a woman holding a clipboard with a taxed appearance. That shrill voice of hers reminded you of your mother, and you sincerely hoped she was an assistant and not your nurse for the day. She appeared to be utterly spent.

"That's me," you said, tucking your phone into your modest shoulder bag.

"Right this way," the woman replied, turning quickly to escape the waiting room and travel down the hall. Shuffling behind her, you followed past four rooms until she stopped at the fifth and final room.

"We're in number 5. The nurse will be along shortly," she informed, scratching her pen sharply on the clipboard.

"Thanks," you said, feeling relieved to hear another person was on their way.

She closed the door behind her, leaving you alone with a large examination table and two empty chairs. One glance at the beige stirrups sticking out from the table was all the motivation you needed to plant yourself in one of the chairs instead.  _I'm not sitting up there today, thank god._

You waited in silence for several minutes, your eyes mulling over the public health posters about patient rights and the flu shot which adorned the otherwise boring walls. The poster on osteoporosis hung next to the window and you felt that one was the most interesting in the room, or at least the most informative. After reading about the risk of bone fractures, you rested your head against the wall and hoped the nurse wasn't going to make you wait another hour.

The doorknob turned and a woman who looked to be in her late fifties entered with a clipboard covering the lower half of her face. Her brunette hair dye had long since stopped covering her silver roots and a small pair of reading glasses balanced on the tip of her nose. You recognized the woman from past clinic visits, but it was the first time she would serve as your nurse.

"Good morning—Catherine," she greeted, glancing at her clipboard to confirm the name. Upon checking her watch, she added, "Well, I guess it’s afternoon now. My name's Sandra. What can I do for you?"

"I need an STI screening," you answered, waiting on the follow-up question you had been asked many times before, despite marking it when you booked the appointment online.

"For what exactly?" she inquired further, adjusting her glasses to get a better look at you.

"The full panel, please."

The nurse flipped to the second page of her clipboard and remarked, "It says here you just had a full set of tests less than a month ago. Did you not receive your results?"

"I did,” you clarified, “but I need to be tested again."

She flipped the page back down and paused, scanning you from head to toe with a discerning eye. The corners of her lips drooped in disappointment and the small space between her eyebrows creased as if she were a helicopter parent who just discovered her daughter made a C minus.

 _Fucking wonderful_ , you internally groaned.  _I've ended up with another judgmental one._ You preferred nurses who would simply order the tests and not ask additional questions. That’s predominantly why you continued to go to clinics instead of a private practice. You didn’t want individualized care and the chance to tell your life’s story; you wanted assembly-line efficiency so you could go home. But alas, you were stuck with Sandra, who was visibly unsettled by your needing another test so soon. The conservative black skirt and dark blue silk blouse you were wearing began to feel tighter under the strain of Sandra’s silence. You felt like a fraud, dressed like your Catholic mother would have wanted, but still, you had hoped it would be enough to get in and out without incident. The expression on the woman’s face, however, informed you the wardrobe wouldn’t be enough to stop her from prying.

"You seem to come in a lot," she instigated. "May I ask what you do for a living?"

 _I’m certainly not answering that question_ , you dismissed quickly. Your hands felt hot and sticky as you tried to remain as polite as possible. "I don't see how that's relevant to me needing another test.”

Sandra’s pen cut sharp lines along the clipboard as she scribbled notes in the open margins of the page. The sight compelled the hairs on the back of your neck to stand to attention. "It just seems out of the norm for a woman your age to get screened this often," she commented with a tilt of her head. "Do you have a lot of partners?"

"The number of partners I've had doesn't matter," you countered, sensing the frustration mounting in your throat like a pressure cooker on the verge of eruption. "I had unprotected sexual contact with a partner and need to be screened again."

A small "hmph" sounded from behind Sandra's lips as she continued to write. It felt like judgment, as if you were being called to the carpet for coming home from a party adorned with hickies and your mother was trying to determine which punishment would be the most suitable. Needless to say, it was not the sound you wanted to hear from a nurse who would be collecting money from you at the end of your office visit.

Crossing your arms, you put forth the question as plainly as your anger allowed. “Am I going to have a problem getting screened today? Or are you guys not interested in getting paid?"

"I'm just concerned about your health, ma'am," she retorted in a snide tone. "A woman your age with as much sexual experience as you seem to have should know better."

Warm air expelled through your nostrils and the sound of your irritated huff slipped into your ears. "You can spare me the lecture. Now do you want the urine test first, or the blood test?"

She clicked her pen and nudged her glasses higher on her nose. "Perhaps you need to reconsider some of your choices so we don't have to see you as often. Your visits are..."

Her voice faded as an obscure tunnel formed around her figure. The walls of the examination room grew hazy and disoriented as your mind slipped back in time.

* * *

 

**_Ten years earlier._ **

"I-I'm sorry, lady."

That was all he said before opening the door of his pickup truck and shoving your mangled body onto the pavement. Thankfully, the truck wasn't too far from the ground, but the fall hurt like hell. Something cracked inside of your weakened form upon impact with the cold concrete, but the pain radiating from other parts of you was immeasurable—far too high to determine what had broken this time and how badly. What’s worse, your face and throat were so engorged with bruised and swollen flesh, you couldn’t see or say anything.

 _This is it. I’m done,_ you accepted _. I’m going to end up in the paper as another discarded piece of gutter trash._

"HEY!" another man shouted from offside, rushing to approach you. The truck's tires squealed as the driver sped away, and then you realized he had dumped you at one of the last places you wanted to be—the hospital.

"Jesus Christ... _Hey_ , we need a stretcher out here!" the man called over his shoulder. The smooth gliding sound of the sliding doors in front of the emergency room was the last thing you detected before the blackness took you under once again.

Your head had never rung so hard in your life. A noise that teetered between buzzing and clanging preoccupied your ears. The throbbing in your temples made you feel as though the critical veins linking your brain to your face were bulging from your skull, and you still couldn't open your eyes—too swollen, too inflamed to be used. Your body was unable to move from the bed, or you would have covered your discolored and scabbed up legs. Everything was pulsing in time with your heartbeat and it was the most searing pain you had ever felt in your life. A scream rose in your throat and you wanted desperately to release it from the depths of your brokenness, but you couldn’t; you couldn’t communicate the depths of the aches and lamentations and you didn’t know why.

To make matters more unbearable, you couldn't register how badly you were hurt either. Everything was a fog, shrouded in fragments which were scattered in your mind like shattered glass. You weren’t certain what had happened and for how long, but whatever it was felt like a tornado ripped through your memory and your flesh. Remembering everything was a hopeless cause you quickly discarded, focus instead on piecing things together in the present, and the only thing helping you on that front was  _them_ —the voices in the same room with you.

"I heard a hooker came in earlier, is that her?"

"She's still unconscious, but yeah, that's her."

"Jesus, someone beat the hell out of her. I thought Jayla was exaggerating."

"Nah, she had it right. Bryce said some guy in a truck just dumped her here."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah, just shoved her out and sped off."

"I wonder if he's the guy who did it. Man, she looks like shit. Did anyone do a rape kit yet?"

"We have to wait for her to wake up and for Dr. Kim to get here. That'll be a while."

"Do you think she'll make it? Her breathing isn't stable."

"Hard to say, we're still waiting on labs. You know how it is. She might have OD'd. They come in, we patch 'em up, then they're back at it a month later."

"Yeah, and they never pay either."

"Nope."

"Makes me wonder why we even bother with these. The hospital's strapped with the budget cuts. Her choices probably put her in this mess. I mean, look at what she's wearing."

* * *

 

You blinked your eyes hard enough to feel the discomforting press of your eyelids as Sandra's scolding look came back into focus.

"You know what? I don't need this."

Standing from your seat with resurgent determination, you stormed out of the examination room and marched your heels toward the reception desk. The tapping sound of your shoes against the hard, sterile floors only amplified the anxious feelings percolating in your stomach. You felt yourself starting to unravel, but you were determined to see resolution before the feeling of helplessness took over and swallowed you whole. No, you would endure this obstacle without losing yourself. It wouldn’t get too far. You weren’t twenty-two anymore.

The staff at the reception area remained unchanged in their seats when you approached. A woman with an ambitious bouffant sat in the first chair with her back turned away from her desk and toward her colleague. She appeared to be sharing a bit of juicy gossip with the man, and their distracted expressions only aggravated you further.

Knocking on the reception glass with a sharp rapping of your knuckles, you signaled for her attention. "Excuse me?" you called impatiently.

The woman ceased talking with a purse of her lips and turned back to the front, looking at you as though you had just interrupted her before she could reach the spicy climax of her story. "Are you ready to pay for your appointment today?"

"Actually, no," you corrected. "I'm not ready to pay because the nurse isn't ready to do her  _job_."

 _Ah, the stress on the last word. Dammit, why did I say it like that?_  Your tone didn’t go unnoticed, as the receptionist clicked her tongue and tilted her head to the side. "Well ma'am, we only have two working today and, as you can see, we are very busy. Which nurse did you see?"

"Sandra."

She furrowed her eyebrows and responded curtly. "She's new.”

 _Like hell, she is_.  _I’ve seen her work here before_ , you recalled with a stunningly offended countenance.

“If you wish to see the other nurse,” she continued, “I can put your name down, but you'll have to wait at the back of the line."

Your hands tremored as heat filled your cheeks. You didn't know whether it was from anger that you had been met with so many obstacles for what you felt should be a simple task, or embarrassment because you were getting ready to pull the card you hoped to never pull here.

_Fuck it._

"Is Sunggyu in?" you inquired sharply.

Her expression morphed into full irritation at the informal use of his name. " _Dr. Kim_  is busy. Now take a seat, ma'am."

_I know she didn't just tell me to take a seat._

Leaning forward into the glass, you narrowed your eyes at the woman and lowered your tone. "I know you think that tone will work with me, but you're about to have a very rude awakening. You're not exempt from customer service just because you don't like me, understand? This glass won't protect you from accountability. Now, you are going to get on that phone and you are going to call the administrator of this office and tell him to come out here. I have enough dirt to file multiple complaints with the Department of Health, including one with your name on it— _Rebecca—_ so I suggest you do something useful and not tell me to go back to my goddamned seat."

The receptionist blanched as she picked up the phone. You stood there with your arms crossed, watching her jab two numbers in rapid succession with her manicured finger.

"Yes, sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's a... _difficult_  patient here at reception demanding to see you." Her eyes trailed up to you, then back down to the phone. "Mhm, thank you, sir."

She ended the call and returned the phone to its original state. "He's on his way."

"Thank you," you forced out, turning your eyes toward the hallway to wait for the administrator.

The man who emerged from the hallway was a tall and attractive figure in a white lab coat, but he looked weary and in dire need of caffeine or sleep. He certainly didn't appear to be in the mood to be understanding or fair that afternoon, and you expected as much given how busy a clinic could be. That sour countenance quickly shifted, however, when he learned that the "difficult patient" was you, standing there with your arms crossed.

"Oh my god," he groaned, wincing like he had made a fatal mistake. "Rebecca, hold my calls until I return," he instructed with a point of his finger, then shook his head in your direction. "I'm sorry, Catherine. If I had known—"

"Well, I haven't shared anything yet," you chuckled.

Sunggyu narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "True, but if your body language and Rebecca's voice on the phone is any indication, I know I won't want to hear about it, yet something tells me I will have to clean it up anyway."

"That's your gift, isn't it?" you grinned. "You clean up after nursing staff who don't uphold policy, yes?"

The doctor chuckled sarcastically as his face shifted into a distressed state that was almost comical. "Please, let's talk in my office. I insist."

* * *

 

**_Ten years earlier._ **

Three knocks on the door yanked you from sleep with jarring shocks to your ears, your head throbbing with renewed aches.

"Hello, Jane Doe. I'm Dr. Kim Sunggyu and I—"

"Please don't—" The pain with which you uttered the words caught you off guard. It was staggering, as your jaw was swollen beyond what you thought your skin could contain. One poke with a needle and your chin would surely pop like a balloon. "Don't call me that. It makes me sound like a dead person."

The doctor raised his eyebrow questioningly. "Alright," he replied, approaching the side of your hospital bed. "Well, you didn't have any ID on you when you came in. What's your name?"

His voice was calm, soothing. You could tell he was slowing down his words and speaking gently, but you were unsure whether to trust him. Trusting men had never gotten you very far in life and you knew wolves wore sheep's clothing better than most people.

"It doesn't matter," you sighed, wishing you could turn away from him to rest on the side of your body that didn’t hurt as badly. "I feel as good as dead anyway."

"It does to me. I'm your doctor," he clarified with a slightly wounded voice. "I'm going to be asking some very personal questions and I want you to be as comfortable as possible. You've been through an ordeal and I'm not keen on making things worse for you, okay?"

Each intake of conversation made your head feel like it had been split with an ax. "You can call me Cat, then. How long have I been here?"

"About six hours. I wanted you to have some rest before talking to you. The nurse tells me you've been out most of that time. How do you feel?"

"Cold. And I feel like shit," you answered, your throat scratchy. "Everything hurts and I—"

Your voice cracked as the fragments of your night began to piece themselves back together in a horrific image. "I-I know why you're here, okay!" Tears stung your eyes and blurred your sight. You had been resolved not to cry in front of the stranger, but it was impossible to blink them away due to the swelling above your cheekbones. "I can't remember everything. God, my head is so fucked up right now. What the hell happened to me?!"

The doctor didn't respond immediately, moving one of the room's spare chairs next to your bed and taking a seat.

"Cat, I'm going to need you to calm your breathing," he began, keeping his voice relaxed. "You're in the hospital because a good Samaritan dropped you at our doorstep."

"I know. I was there when my shoulder hit the pavement," you smarted off, feeling anger rack your chest. "Then I blacked out."

"Yes, you blacked out," he confirmed. "Then you went to the ER and we took several scans and enough blood to run multiple tests. You're in incredible shape, and that is the  _only_ reason you haven't gone into surgery for internal bleeding. I am hopeful, all things considered, that you will heal on your own under my close observation, but I need you to try to relax as best you can. I know it's hard—”

“I don’t think you do, actually—”

“—but if you react too harshly or become too distressed,” he continued, “you may cause more injury to yourself than you had when you came in. Your breathing hasn't returned to normal yet."

"That's because someone beat the hell out of my face," you remarked in irritation.

"Yes. Now I'm here because I am required to discuss what else happened before you got here. You said you don't remember everything, but is there anything you  _do_  remember?"

Dr. Kim leaned forward a bit with his clipboard in hand and you knew he was fishing for information. Your memories of the night before were obscure and foggy, but you weren't an idiot. With a wince, you lifted your forearm to meet your line of sight and beheld a speckling of fingerprint-sized bruises against your olive-toned skin. There were scabby rope burns on your wrists you didn’t recognize and the moment you shifted your legs to get a closer look at yourself, you felt the searing, tender flesh between your legs cry out in agony. The confirmation of your suspicions hit with the force of a hammer.

Sinking your head into your pillow, you closed your eyes, swallowing down the urge to vomit. "Did you call the police?"

"No," he said, "although it's customary to do that in your case. We can't call them unless you tell us you're pressing charges."

"I'm not pressing charges," you stated bluntly. "I was...uh, we don't have to talk about what I was doing."

The doctor sighed like someone who had heard that line a thousand times.

"Look," he stressed, crossing his arms, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me. I know quite a bit from your scans, perhaps more than you. I'm asking these questions because I'm building a treatment plan and your testimony helps me do that."

You weren't really in the mood to be generous, but you wanted answers. You could admit that to yourself, at least. You could barely move without something hurting, so it wasn’t as if you could check yourself out and really understand all that had happened on your own. You could guess, but you knew there were injuries you couldn't see. The unsettling state of your body made that more than clear.

"If you stop writing on the clipboard like you're a shrink, I'll tell you what I know. Then, you can tell me what you know," you offered.

"Fair enough." Dr. Kim set the clipboard down on the side table. "So, what were you doing last night?"

You took a deep breath before giving your answer. "Hooking. That's why you can't call the cops. They're not going to do shit except arrest me. And if they were to go after those guys, I would be killed and no one would bat an eye. What they did to me was their idea of a party."

"You said 'guys,' so there was more than one?"

"There was only  _supposed_  to be one," you explained, "but when I got there, there were five of them. And I wasn't about to fuck five for the price of one, so I said no. And the guy who hired me said 'Yeah, alright, we'll just have a few drinks and then you and I can leave,' and I think fine, he just wants to dangle me in front of his friends. I was so stupid...."

The inside of your throat grew scratchy again. You knew what happened next: the drink, the one you took without thinking.

"Did you find any drugs in those tests?" you asked, dreading his confirmation of what you already knew.

"Yes, flunitrazepam showed in your blood analysis." He leaned back in his seat. "That's why you can't remember everything. It's a drug that's been known to cause amnesia. Illegal, but not too difficult to obtain."

 _Roofied_ , you thought, enraged you ever said yes to meeting that asshole who put you in that hospital bed. You wanted to replay the night and conjure up alternative scenarios, decisions you could have made differently to prevent what had happened. But a part of you felt the events of last night were inevitable. You were a whore, after all. It was only a matter of time before someone was going to take advantage of you.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, don't," Dr. Kim said, interrupting your thoughts. "What happened isn't your fault."

You glared at him. "How can you say that? You don't know me."

"I don't, but you're not the first person I've treated in your position. I'm the only sexual assault forensic examiner in this hospital. Everyone who has been through our doors with the trauma you’ve had becomes my patient."

"Then tell me why I'm still in these clothes," you groaned, tugging at your black bodycon dress.

"Because we needed to wait until you were awake to get consent for a rape kit."

Choking back the lump in your throat, you replied, "Don't bother wasting your time. I can't pay for it."

His eyes appeared pained by your response. "They're free—"

The door to your hospital room opened with a swift swing and one of the nurses entered without introducing herself.

"Dr. Kim, we have a—"

 _That voice_.

"Get out!" you shouted suddenly. The nurse halted her entrance, unsure how to respond, so you continued to bark at her. "You don't have to  _bother_  treating a hooker who was  _clearly_ asking for it with this dress!"

"What's going on here?" the doctor inquired. "Hey," he said, turning to the nurse, "Were you talking about the patient in the patient's room?”

The nurse turned pale and stuttered, "W-we thought she was out cold."

“She's a rape victim for Christ's sake!” Dr. Kim cried out, smacking the side of his head to signal how badly the nurse had erred.

"She said she didn't know why the hospital bothered when they were strapped with budget cuts," you told the doctor. The nurse’s eyes widened in alarm. "Yeah, I heard you, bitch,” you taunted. “You said my choices got me here because of my fucking outfit. Get the fuck out!"

The nurse’s face was strained under the weight of your accusation. Unable to conjure a proper defense, she patted down her scrubs nervously and turned to leave.

"Wait."

Dr. Kim put his hand up, then addressed the nurse with a point of his finger. " _You_. Your job doesn't start or stop based on whether someone can pay. You don't know this woman. You didn't even know her name, yet you made judgments about her anyway."

"But—" the nurse started to counter.

"No, no, no, you're not going to argue with  _me_ ,” Dr. Kim chuckled in a menacing tone. “How else would this patient know about budget cuts if you hadn't been talking too much, hm? Instead of shaming her without any factual basis for your assumptions, you should have been monitoring her fucking vitals to make sure she lived through the night. If you had been paying attention, you would have seen she  _was_  awake and you would have paged me to come in here sooner. Then I could have done  _my_  job which is to make sure she's not a goddamned trafficking victim and do the rape kit! Do you not realize how careless you've been? You've upset her so much that you've doubled my work to earn her trust, to treat her with the respect she deserves as a patient under our care, so thanks for that. You're off this rotation, effective immediately. Now, go take a fucking walk with the knowledge that I will be reporting this as soon as I'm done here."

The nurse appeared to be on the brink of tears as she briskly charged from the room. Dr. Kim took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm very sorry you weren't treated respectfully by our staff," he said.

You weren't in a place to forgive after everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. After a long pause of several seconds, you confessed, "She was right, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"I can't pay for this bill. That kit might be free, but nothing else is. An ER trip sure as hell isn’t."

The doctor's lips pressed into a thin line and he swallowed deeply. "Don't worry about it. I'll cover your expenses while you're under my care."

"Why are you helping me?" you asked with a raised tone. "I'm not in a position to fuck or suck right now. I'll never be able to repay you. I'm never gonna  _be_  in a position to repay you. Once I'm out of here, I'll be back to barely getting by like always."

Your throat cracked at your final words and you wished the whole experience would be over. The doctor stood there, mulling over what you said before grabbing his clipboard and turning toward the door.

"You're a human being and you have value," he spoke calmly. "Now, I'm going to get you some medication for the pain and then I hope we can continue to talk when I get back. I know you probably have some more questions, and I’m willing to answer them."

Nodding your head as best you could, you gave your response as your throat burned and you waited for him to leave. He nodded in return, tapping his fingers against the clipboard. Then, gingerly grabbing the door handle, he assured with his eyes that he would return as soon as possible.

The moment the door closed and you were alone, the tears began to roll down your cheeks, renewing the stings of the cuts on your face with salt, but you couldn't stop them. All you could do was sob, your lamentations sounding like the cries of someone who suffered something incomprehensible. And you had. After hours of being tortured, tormented, passed around your client and his friends—then left for dead—you were sure life was over, or at least it should be. Your body would never return to 100% after what they had done, and even if it could, you knew your mind had become brutally and irrevocably altered with the newfound knowledge of what people could be capable of at their worst.

And yet, someone picked you up and brought you to the hospital. Someone defended you without knowing you and provided a way out, at least financially. You didn't know why anyone would show you a kindness after the worst day of your life. You felt like you were worth less than nothing—used goods—and now you could say you really understood what that felt like. Expendable people like you were never meant to be given a life raft, not after all the fuck ups that had brought you to that hospital bed.

The heart beating within your chest had no frame of reference to pull from, no means of understanding why the doctor, a man who had nothing to gain by helping you the way he did, had given you a chance to recover. You didn't deserve the effort and you felt you would never be worth the trouble or the expense, but you were determined to not waste it.

* * *

 

Taking a seat across from the large oak desk in Sunggyu's office felt a bit strange to you, as you didn't anticipate meeting him under the present circumstances.

"It's good to see you again," he started, pulling out a pen from his coat pocket. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to take some notes since there seems to be a management issue."

Your legs crossed at the ankles beneath your seat as you tried to make yourself more comfortable. "By all means," you offered with a soft placement of your hands in your lap.

"How may I help you?"

Pressing your lips together, you eased into the grievance. "I know how important women's health is to you. And I know you wouldn't want any of your patients to feel like they don't belong in your clinic."

"Of course," he agreed, pen pressed to a fresh notepad. "I feel a complaint coming."

"I don't know what kind of script your nurses are being trained with, but when a patient comes in requesting a new STI screening following a recent screening, the next line from the nurse should be instructions on how to complete a urine or blood test. It should  _not_  be a lecture on sexual promiscuity and a probe into one's employment."

"They said  _what_?" Sunggyu's face grew stern, his jaw clenching in frustration.

"I came in to get a new screening following unprotected sex, and I was asked what I did for a living and how many partners I've had. When I refused to answer, I was told by your nurse that I should 'know better' and 'reconsider some of my choices' so I don't have to come in as often. Now, I come into this clinic—your clinic—nearly every month and I've been doing that for over a year. I've never been talked to that way by any of the other nurses I've seen."

He shook his head with two jerks and set his pen down. "One of my staff said that to you  _today_?"

"Yes, she's still seeing patients and probably terrorizing them with questions about their moral fiber," you answered sarcastically.

"Jesus Christ," he huffed under his breath, returning to the notepad to scratch a few sentences.

"I know you to be a good man," you eased, "and I know how important it is to you to provide a safe place for public health for women. That's why I'm not going to go to the Department of Health and file a complaint. It's also why I'm going to continue to come here even though I pass two other clinics on the way. But she shouldn't be allowed to shame patients,  _especially_  ones she perceives to be in sex work like she perceived of me today. Sex workers need those health services and deserve to be treated fairly as much as the next patient."

"I can't believe this shit," he mumbled as if he was talking to himself, his hand in a flurry over his notepad. "Which nurse did you see today?"

"Sandra."

Sunggyu grunted in the back of his throat upon hearing her name. "I should have known."

"You've had problems with her already?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your receptionist told me she was new."

"For training purposes, we consider nurses to be new up to a year. But she's not brand new; she's a transfer-hire from another clinic. We haven't had any complaints, but sometimes I get gut feelings about people and she was rather nosey in staff meetings."

Sunggyu picked up his telephone and dialed three numbers. "Come to my office, please," he said in an even tone before hanging up.

"Should I leave?" you inquired, rising to get up from your seat.

He patted his hand in the air to coax you to remain in your chair. "No, no, please, I'd like to talk about one more thing, if you don't mind."

Nodding, you replied. "I have some time. I still need that screening, though."

"I'll take care of that, I assure you." He clicked his pen closed and tucked it back into the chest pocket of his lab coat.

The door to his office opened quickly and Sandra entered with a cheerful expression. "Good afternoon, Dr. K—oh." Her wide eyes fell on you and you offered a curt smile before shifting your shoulders back in the doctor's direction.

"Come in and close the door, please," Sunggyu instructed. As the door closed with a faint tap, he resumed, "I'd like to introduce you to Catherine, a patient in our clinic."

"Yes, I saw her today," Sandra said hesitantly. "She walked out before her screening."

Sunggyu nodded, then leaned back in his chair. "Would that have anything to do with you asking questions outside of the realm of our health services, such as asking about employment?"

"I—" Sandra paused. "I didn't think that would be a problem, sir. I routinely ask patients where they work."

"Do you routinely tell them to 'reconsider some of their choices' too?" he pressed. "I'm going to be up-front with you, Sandra. You're here today because this woman”—he pointed his index finger in your direction—"is the reason why you have a job, and you've insulted her enough for me to be put on notice. This woman is the top private donor to this clinic, and I want you to remember her face because her continued support and her  _mercy_ , frankly, is the only reason why you're getting off with a written warning from me. After today, if I find out you were shaming patients about their sexual preferences or experience, you'll be fired. You weren't hired here for your moral compass; you were hired for your experience and credentials, which were stellar. I'm not happy that one of our benefactors can't get a simple screening, especially when she's donated enough money to have the fucking lab named after her. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," Sandra stated with the voice of a mouse.

"Now, apologize to Catherine."

Sandra turned to you and folded her hands in front of her nervously. "I'm very, very sorry, ma'am."

"Don't let it happen again," you advised strongly. "The women in that waiting room deserve to be treated with respect."

The nurse swallowed deeply and nodded, refusing to say anything more. Sunggyu nodded in sync and then calmly instructed. "Thank you, you're dismissed. Please close the door on your way out."

Sandra made her exit, leaving you and the doctor alone once again. Sunggyu leaned forward and interlaced his fingers on his desk. "I hope you'll accept my deepest apologies on behalf of the clinic. You have always supported us, and we didn't do that in return as we should have."

"These things happen," you remarked with a gentle smile. "I just want to ensure it doesn't continue to happen. I can always donate elsewhere."

"I sincerely hope you  _won't_ do that," he laughed nervously. "The government continues to cut our funding. We are becoming more reliant upon generosity from donors like yourself."

"I don't want those women out there to have no place to go," you assured. "As long as I am able, I'll continue to give my support."

Sunggyu's face relaxed with a sigh of relief. "I appreciate that. Oh, and that reminds me. Those solar panels, wow, what a difference they've made."

You perked up with raised eyebrows. "They've been installed already? That was fast."

"Yeah," he replied with a beaming grin. "We've had them a couple weeks. We've already noticed a lot of positive changes with our operating costs. You'll have to thank your business associate for me, what was his name? I can't remember."

 _I can't forget him_ , you chuckled.

"Park Jimin. I'll definitely let him know you're pleased with the panels. Be sure to reach out if they have any issues or stop working later on. I know Jimin has several technicians on staff and he owes me."

"He's not the only one," Sunggyu commented, standing from his chair and moving toward the door. "I hope you'll allow me to cover the cost of your screening today, after all you've gone through with Sandra."

"Oh no, I insist on paying in full," you refused gently, joining him.

As you stood near the door, close enough to touch the doorknob, his eyes locked with yours in a calm stare that was both familiar and understanding of one another.

"It's been a long ten years, hasn't it?" he commented softly.

A warm expression bloomed in your cheeks. "It has. A lot has changed."

The corners of his lips pulled back into a smile. "I hope you don't mind my saying so but, you look well. You're doing a lot of good out there for the clinic and for others. I'm not saying this to try to get more money or anything. It's just that I never expected that the distressed young patient I met ten years ago in that hospital bed would turn things around so much. One of the reasons we're still afloat here is because of you."

A lump lifted and became trapped in your throat as you looked into the eyes of the man you knew you could never repay enough.

“You know I would have probably died in that hospital if it wasn't for you. I lost a part of myself back there, and you were the only person who made sure I didn't lose anymore. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

Your vision blurred as a hot tear dragged down your cheek. Sunggyu turned and plucked a tissue from his desk and handed it to you.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I wouldn't have brought up the past if I had known it would upset you."

You poked the tissue's folded corner against your tear ducts and chuckled, "It's okay. It's not that I'm upset. It's just that sometimes being here reminds me of how it used to be."

"I understand, he said, donning a warm look of caring that you would always associate with him. As he opened the door into the hallway, he motioned with an open palm. "Shall we go take care of your screening?"


End file.
